The Phantom of Notre Dame
by SubtleFighter
Summary: What would happen if the Phantom wandered into the world of the Hunchback of Notre Dame and decided to stir things up a bit?
1. Wandering Phantom

**What would happen if the Phantom found himself wandering into the world of _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ and decided to stir things up a bit?**

**I'm co-writing this with my sister, Fallen Scarlet Rose (our brother came up with the title). Don't be fooled by the opening scene; our Erik is not really based on the movie (we just needed to use that part for story purposes). Also, we're basing _Hunchback_ on the Disney movie, not the book. But since this fic is under the "Phantom" section of this site, we're writing it so that people who don't know anything about the world of Hunchie (as we like to call him) can still understand what's going on.**

**Another note: we know these stories don't occupy the same time period. But for the purposes of our story, they do. Let's just say it takes place sometime before airplanes, televisions, and such were invented.**

**Disclaimer: Phantom belongs to Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and the like. Hunchback belongs to Victor Hugo and the Walt Disney company. We are none of these people (cries), we're just borrowing their stories for awhile.**

**Now, let's get things started!

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Chapter 1

_It's over now, the music of the night!_

The Phantom violently struck the mirror. The candlestick shook in his hands as he hit another. Pulling back the tapestry, he plunged the candlestick into the center of the last mirror, shattering the once-solid glass. The tunnel that lay ahead of him seemed darker than ever.

Where was he to go now? Was there even any point in going on? He'd lost Christine forever. He'd had her for a few brief, overwhelming moments, but he knew in his heart he couldn't keep her. She'd only chosen him to keep Raoul from dying, nothing more. He wasn't delusional enough to think that a woman would actually _want_ to be with him, that she'd actually choose a hideous corpse over a handsome vicomte. No, it wasn't what she really wanted. So he'd let her go. And she'd given him such a precious gift—how could he not give her what she wanted? Tears dripped down his cheeks as he remembered her lips on his—he could almost still feel them there. In all his thirty-five years, it was the first time he'd been kissed. Even his own mother had refused to grant him that luxury. But Christine, that beautiful child—she was in fact the one who was the angel—had kissed him. It made him experience a strange emotion. Maybe it's what others called happiness. He wasn't sure; it was so unfamiliar to him.

_Track down this murderer_

_He must be found_

_Who is this monster?_

_Hunt out this animal_

_Who runs to the ground_

_Revenge for Piangi!_

_Revenge for Buquet!_

_Too long he's preyed on us_

_But now we know_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there_

_Deep down below_

They were so close now. He had to get away. Burying his urge to drown himself in the lake because he had to go on without Christine, he grabbed an extra mask, put it on, and stepped through the mirror.

* * *

He had no idea where he was.

He'd been wandering around underground Paris for several hours now. He'd helped build the Opera Populaire, and he'd always kept that tunnel that led from his mirror in the back of his mind as a possible extra passage out of his home in case it became necessary to escape without using his normal route. But now that he was actually using it, he couldn't for the life of him remember where it led. It'd been so many years ago, and he'd never needed to use it before. He silently berated himself for his foolish forgetfulness. He didn't even know where he was headed! Well, it was either plunge forward into uncertainty or go back to face the police forces and the angry mob of the opera house. So it seemed that he was doomed to keep trudging along in these tunnels.

Which had by now turned into a sewer. The smell was really starting to get to him. The 20,000 francs a month he'd gotten from the managers at the Opera Populaire had afforded him expensive clothes to wear, but by now his boots and pants were worthless. But even the thought of continuing in these conditions gave him no desire to return to the opera house. It was there where he'd fallen in love with Christine only to have his heart trampled on. It was there where she'd rejected him for a shallow buffoon—but he was a _handsome_ shallow buffoon and that made all the difference.

He clenched his fists angrily. He felt the black fabric of his gloves moving with his fingers, and he was reminded again of what a hideous monster he really was, having to wear something to shield himself against the attacks of those who only see with their eyes. Well, he was through with Christine. He didn't need her. What had he been thinking, opening himself up to that kind of vulnerability? What a rebellious heart he had, still trying to seek approval and companionship even after it'd seen so many times how that only led to misery. He was going to beat his heart into submission even if it killed him. He was a solitary creature of darkness; that's how it always was, and that's how it always would be.

But wait. What was that?

His keen eyesight saw that his surroundings had slowly changed as he moved down the tunnel. Now on either side of the stream of sewage were mountains of skulls. Erik was startled. Had he been walking so long that he actually wandered back _into_ the catacombs under the opera house? Looking ahead, something caught his eye. It almost looked like one of the skulls was looking at him! Where the heck was he! Feeling uneasy (and wondering if he'd gone insane again), he reached for the lasso at his side.

Just as he got a grip on it, some of the skulls leaped up and attacked him. But these weren't just skulls, they were full-on skeletons. No, they were people dressed in costumes, looking like skeletons. _How ironic_, Erik thought as his Punjab swung around the neck of one of his ambushers. A rough hand on his arm, though, interrupted his kill. The odd sensation of being touched (even if it was through the layers of his clothing) startled him just long enough for the skeleton belonging to the hand to shove him to the side, where another skeleton was ready with ropes. His momentary loss of focus dissolved into anger—at the one who'd dared to touch him—and determination not to be at the mercy of them. The man whose neck was in the Punjab had slipped himself out of it in his distraction, so Erik went to try again. But just as he was about to swing it at the man who'd touched him, several hands from behind latched onto his arms and pulled him back. They began cackling a horrible laugh as he felt them trying to put a rope around his wrists.

He was seething. How _dare_ they.

He fought back furiously while more and more of them kept appearing. But even though he managed to get in a few good shots here and there, in the end they simply outnumbered him. They tied him up and danced around him, howling that hideous laugh of theirs again.

He would kill them all as soon as he got the chance.

It was then that he got his first good look at the men in street clothes who'd come to the aid of the original skeletons. Their style of dress stirred something within his memory that he didn't particularly like, but he couldn't quite place what it was. Then suddenly his brain clicked and his eyes widened in horror.

Gypsies!

All the memories came flooding back into his mind. How they'd paraded him as a sideshow freak. How they'd treated him worse than an animal, whipping him in a cage while people mocked and spit on his face. He wanted to scream. These . . . _humans_ would never do that to him again. He would die before he let them.

They started taunting him, led by a skinny man with black hair that hung out of his hat:

_Maybe you've heard of a terrible place_

_Where the scoundrels of Paris collect in a lair_

_Maybe you've heard of that mythical place_

_Called the Court of Miracles—hello, you're there!_

The Court of Miracles! If there'd been any doubt that these were gypsies that he'd run into, it was now dispelled. The group of gypsies he was with when he was younger often talked about this place when their travels brought them near the Paris area. It was the hideout for gypsies to be safe from people interfering with their business. He couldn't help struggling again against his captors, even though he knew they overpowered him at the moment (as much as it enraged him to think it). _They won't have me for long_, he thought. The gypsies started dragging him somewhere, while they continued their song:

_Where the lame can walk_

_And the blind can see_

_But the dead don't talk_

_So you won't be around to reveal what you found_

_We have a method for spies and intruders_

_Rather like hornets protecting their hive_

_Here in the Court of Miracles_

_Where it's a miracle if you get out alive!_

And there it was.

In front of him was an immense hall full of gypsies. It was a spacious area loaded with tents. A sense of fear ran through his veins as he was dragged toward the crowd. A wooden scaffold at the front of the place seemed to taunt him as he was pulled closer and closer to it. The people realized what was going on and temporarily abandoned whatever they were doing and gathered around the scaffold. Some started pointing and laughing.

"What's behind the mask?" shouted an olive-skinned man in dark red clothing who had a good view.

This outburst caused those around him to erupt into more cackles. The men were now hoisting him onto the plank, while the skinny, dark-haired man from the catacombs (he seemed to be their leader) jumped onto the scaffold like it was a stage. No one noticed that Erik was starting to loosen the ropes around his wrists, while the man strutted around, basking in the attention he commanded. "Look what we have here!" he exclaimed. "A cowardly masked spy!"

The crowd cheered and shrieked until Erik was sure his eardrums would voluntarily burst in protest. His fury was so palpable, he was sure it must be seeping through his skin.

"An intruder who dared to enter our hideout! We must teach him a lesson on how we view his kind!" The man grabbed onto a rope tied in a circular knot. "There's good 'noose' tonight!" he exclaimed.

Erik tried to tune out the frenzied noise of the gypsies' glee. _Almost there . . . ,_ he thought.

* * *

A young woman with hair the color of midnight slipped silently through the hoard of people, trying to figure out what all the commotion was about. They had no time for this interruption; the Feast of Fools was the next day and they still had a lot of preparation to do. She glanced behind her a few times, making sure her goat was right behind her. Not that it was necessary to do so, since Djali was always at her side. But this was a big, compact crowd, and she couldn't bear the thought of losing the best friend she'd had since she was a child, and so she checked anyway.

"But first, we must discover the face behind the mask!" she heard Clopin, the leader of the gypsies, say. She couldn't quite see him through the crowd yet, but she could imagine him dancing around the platform like normal. He loved to be the center of attention. She had to inch her way towards the scaffold a few more times before it was actually in sight. A strange man was in the center. He was tall, with his entire build being concealed behind a long, black cloak. On his head was a black fedora. Even his extremities were hidden behind boots and gloves, both black. The only interruption in the darkness of the man was a prominent full-face skeleton-white mask, which a few of her companions were reaching for.

Suddenly, the man sprang alive. Hands that she thought were tied behind his back now reached forward to grab the men that were coming at him. The men were caught off-guard for a second before attempting to retaliate. They struggled back and forth for a little bit. Seeing that they were losing, one of the men went to punch this strange figure. But the cloaked man had turned his head slightly to get a better shot at another man. Therefore, the fist connected with the side of the mask where it met the skin. Before anyone knew what had happened, the mask had fallen off.

The woman gasped. That face! His skin was a sickly yellow, like the color taken on by corpses left to rot. Where everyone else had a nose, there was just a gap. But his most startling feature was his eyes . . . black holes sunken into his skull, as if trying to hide from the light. Her own emerald eyes widened in recognition. _I know that face . . . ._

"ERIK!"

* * *

**As you can tell, we decided to make the world of _Hunchback_ more adult, rather than Disney-fy _Phantom_. The original Hunchback book is pretty adult, but since we're going by the Disney movie I thought I'd specify that. **

**Anyway, please review!**


	2. Court of Memories

**Sorry this chapter took a little while to get up. Me and my sister have jobs, I have schooling, plus family situations and other stuff that we have in our lives. In short, we're pretty busy. (The first chapter took about this long to write too.) So I can't promise that we'll have a new chapter up within a week, but we'll definitely keep chugging along, writing when we get some spare time. And since there's two authors, we decided that a note from me (SubtleFighter) would be in bold, whereas if it's from FallenScarletRose it will be italicized.**

**Also, I heard a rumor going around that this site has banned answering reviews. We think that'd be horrible if that were true, since reviewers are the life-blood of the stories. So until we hear definitely that we can't reply to reviews, we're gonna reply to reviews.**

_I just want to say "Thank you" for all that reviewed. (cries) I just love you all so much!_

**Now for the reviews!**

**Prd2bAmerican18 – Thank you!**

**tink8812 – That's cool that you like "Court of Miracles" so much. I asked my sister, and we both like "Hellfire" and "The Bells of Notre Dame" the best, although we like all the songs from Hunchie. I love the Hunchie book (my sister hasn't read it yet), although it's pretty depressing. We decided to go with the movie rather than the book because we know the movie characters more. As for Esmeralda's age, the answer is in this chapter. Thanks for reading!**

**Sharpie – Basically, how we got the idea to do a Hunchie/Phantom crossover was because we was sure someone had done it already (because it seemed so obvious), so we searched around this site; and shockingly, no one had done it! So I went, "That's it. We _have_ to do it." I'm glad we weren't the only ones with the idea! As for using wording that's corresponding to the time period, well, we're not even sure what time period it's in since the two stories took place in different centuries. So I can't promise that we won't use phrases that weren't around in the middle ages/19th century (especially neither of us are experts in that sort of thing), but I can promise we won't do something like have Erik stop to answer his cell phone. (Lol, now _that's_ a weird thought!) Thank you for your compliments.**

**Dernhelm – Your review made me laugh out loud! "Misunderstood Fugly 'Monsters' Who Just Don't Get A Happy Ending", lol, that _should_ be a separate genre! Yeah, we thought the concept was obvious too, and we were shocked that no one had done it, so that's why we decided to do it. Glad others like the concept! Thanks for your enthusiasm.**

**UnknownWorldCreator – Thanks. Here's chapter 2!

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Chapter 2

"STOP!"

Those that were around the woman gave her confused looks as she began shoving her way to the front of the crowd. The cloaked figure was looking around with what might pass for a horrified expression on his face. _Probably for his mask_, she thought. When the mask had come off, the men that were fighting him had stopped dead in their tracks and now stood gaping at the incredible sight in front of them. At the sound of his name on some stranger's lips, Erik had also been startled. The rumble had come to a halt, and a hush fell over everyone in the Court of Miracles.

_I have to take advantage of the confusion_, the woman thought. "Stop this right now!" she yelled again, now standing right in front of the scaffold.

Clopin blinked his eyes a few times, then glanced at her. "You know this . . . ," he looked at Erik with a slight gleam in his eye, ". . . man?"

"Yes, I do. Release him at once."

Clopin glanced back and forth between her and Erik a few times, his eyebrows scrunched in thought. Finally, he raised his hand in assent, waving it at the men around Erik. The men seemed all too glad to get away from the gruesome being, scurrying off as quickly as they could. Erik, on the other hand, had his head bent in such a way that most of his face was shadowed by his fedora. A wave of compassion rushed over the woman as she saw this. How terrible it must be for him to have everyone hate him so much because of something he was born into! And then to have his face carelessly exposed like that!

A bleating noise at her side interrupted her train of thought. She glanced down and saw Djali with his head down, chewing on a shiny, white object. The mask! She quickly grabbed it from the goat's mouth before too much damage was done. On inspection, it now had a few new scratches at the bottom and it was covered in slobber, but otherwise it was fine. She wiped the drool off on her dress, grimacing a bit. Then she raised the mask up to the shadowy figure. From what she could see of his face, he was staring at it incredulously. She also became aware again that everyone was still staring at them.

"Come on," she entreated softly.

* * *

As this new woman led him off the scaffold, Erik's head was spinning. He wished he could taken them all on; make them pay for how they treated him. But there were too many of them, and he wasn't stupid. He'd already seen what happened when he tried to overpower them. Oh, well. It wasn't like he wasn't used to hiding from people for his own safety.

His eyes drifted to the woman in front of him. Her hair was dark and hung in soft curls around her head. Just like—

Nobody. Just like nobody.

And yet he _did_ know her from somewhere. _Come on . . . ._ Where had he heard that voice before? . . . Ah, yes . . . .

It was when he was still in the clutches of the gypsies as a sideshow freak. He was fifteen. His . . . caretakers had decided that making him look even more like a corpse would draw in more money. So they started feeding him less and less. Pretty soon, his already lanky form began to shrink even more. He was dizzy and weak all the time. Just when he thought he couldn't stand it anymore, they would give him a few pieces of bread, which wouldn't be nearly enough. It seemed like all he could think of was the growling pain in his stomach, so he didn't have the energy to play his tricks on them, which probably only encouraged them to keep him in this condition. He often thought he would just keep whiddling away until he actually did become dead.

But one day, after one of his "performances", he was leaning against the back of his cage trying to go to sleep, when a little girl quietly came up behind him. She was about five years old. Her jet-black hair fell messily to her shoulders, and her clothes were in the traditional gypsy style. He had groaned inwardly. A gypsy child come to laugh or throw more stones at him.

But instead, she'd simply stared at him with a sad look in her eyes. _"Does it hurt?", she'd asked in a soft, sincere voice._

He'd turned to face her. To his surprise, she was gazing at his face with compassion. There wasn't a trace of malicious intent to be found in her eyes. He was slightly amused. She thought his face had gotten that way because of some injury? He almost chuckled. Did it hurt to have his face? He stared at her for several seconds, appraising her.

"_Yes, it does," he'd replied honestly._

The little girl came closer. He shrank back instinctively. Just then, his stomach growled. The girl looked pensive, then reached into her pocket, pulled out a big chuck of chicken, and held it up to him.

"_I didn't finish my dinner," she'd explained. "So they told me to take it with me to eat later . . . but you look hungry."_

Erik was astonished. Completely overwhelmed. Just the fact that this little girl not only was not repulsed by his appearance and was immediately sympathetic that his deformity might be causing him pain, but she also was willing to give up some of her own food . . . . He couldn't help the tears that were forming in his eyes. Never in his life had he experienced something like this. Never in his life.

He just sat there, trying to control the sobs that overtook his body. She stared at him confusedly, then glanced meaningfully at the chicken in her hand, which was still outstretched in an offer to him.

"_Come on," she'd said softly, her eyes wide._

Erik, almost reverently, reached his hand out through the bars of the cage and took the food. The girl watched him eat it with an innocent smile on her face.

"_Thank you," he'd said with his voice full of emotion._

She smiled wider, her emerald eyes sparkling. _"I'm Esmeralda," she'd told him. "What's your name?"_

The Spanish name suited her. She was a rare jewel indeed.

"_Erik."_

After that, she'd come by every day to see him. And every day she'd bring him some food she'd saved. He savored every visit, since it was his only source of human contact. She even defended him whenever the other children would make fun of him. Soon, his body started to fill out more and his strength began returning to him. And when he escaped from the gypsies not long after that, his only regret was that he'd never see her again.

And yet here she was, twenty years later, leading him into the safety of a green and yellow tent in the middle of the Court of Miracles. He would've chosen another fabric to construct the tent—he knew of another type that would last longer—but the color was intriguing . . . .

"I'm sorry about the way they treated you," she was saying, pulling down a curtain at the entrance once they were inside to give them some privacy. He relaxed a little, being out of the public eye. "Believe it or not, it's nothing personal. It's just that this minister named Frollo has been hunting us down for years. And if he found this place, he'd kill us all. So, as you can see, we're pretty jumpy about strange men appearing in our hideout."

He couldn't say he was too sad about the prospect, although he didn't wish any harm to come to her.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle, but I wish to clarify something," Erik told her. "Your name is Esmeralda, is it not?" He was pretty sure it was her, but she _had_ been only five the last time he saw her, so he wanted to be certain before he started making conversation with some woman he didn't know who happened to look like her.

"Yes," she replied, smiling, "although I'm a little surprised you remember me after all this time."

_Of course I remember you_, he thought. _You saved my life. _"You decided to leave that other group?" he asked.

Esmeralda nodded and found a place to sit. She motioned for him to sit next to her, but he shook his head. "I left as soon as I was old enough to take care of myself," she told him. "I couldn't stand being around people who treated others like dirt just because they're less fortunate than they are. I'd heard about the Court of Miracles in Paris for years, and I decided I wanted to go there. So the next time they traveled by here, I took Djali and left to find it. Eventually I did, and here I am."

"Did the people here welcome you as openly as they did me?"

She got a wry expression on her face. "They were wary at first, but I convinced them pretty quick that I was one of them. Now things are going good in my life."

_It must be nice to have people around who are like you and accept you, _he couldn't help thinking sarcastically.

"The people here are much nicer than the others," she continued. He resisted the urge to laugh. "We just go about our business, not hurting anybody." She smirked. "Unless, of course, you're a Frollo spy," she revised.

He gave a small smile behind his mask. It felt so weird to be having a normal conversation with someone. He wasn't sure he even remembered how. He hadn't had much chance for small talk while he was living under the opera house. Who would he have talked to anyway, the rats? The only person he interacted with was Christine, and they certainly didn't have normal conversa—

He cursed under his breath. _No_, he ordered himself angrily, _I will not even THINK about her._

When he glanced back at Esmeralda, she looked startled. "What's wrong?" she asked him.

He turned away, annoyed that he'd said it outloud. "Nevermind." He'd have to be more careful in the future.

She paused, then shrugged it off. "So, Erik, what have you been doing these past twenty years?" Esmeralda folded her arms in front of her.

He turned back to her with a smirk that she couldn't see. "I died," he joked. "In fact, I was quite a popular ghost for awhile."

Just then, they heard a shrill whistle, which interrupted Esmeralda's response. "We only have one more day. Let's continue with our preparations!" they heard the skinny man from before shout. Esmeralda jumped up from her seat.

"Who is that man?" Erik asked.

"Him? He's Clopin, our leader. Listen, I gotta go rehearse for tomorrow. Do you mind if I leave you here for a little?"

"Rehearse?" he repeated. "For what?"

"Tomorrow's the Feast of Fools. It's a big celebration that we have every year. Everyone stops what they normally do and has fun and breaks the rules. Even Frollo doesn't come after us then, unless we _really_ do something to make him mad. So we mostly have the run of the show." She stopped and smiled. "Hey, why don't you come along?"

"_Me?_ I don't think so." Was she crazy? Him, going out in broad daylight in the middle of a crowd of people?

"A lot of people wear masks or costumes," she pointed out.

He paused._ People go there in costumes and masks?_, he thought._ But those people can take off their masks at the days end. What if something would happen and people would want to see who is underneath? That's a risk I don't want to take._

Esmeralda sighed. "Well, it's not until tomorrow anyway. Why don't you think about it? Let me know if you want to come." She gave him a final smile and then disappeared through the curtains.

But yet, even after she was gone, the thought still raged in his head.

The Feast of Fools.

What would happen if he went?

* * *

**If you remember what happens during the Feast of Fools, you may have an idea of what's gonna happen next. Next chapter the story really gets rolling!**

_Next chapter we will show you the king of fools. HUNCHIE!_

**Once again, please review and thank you to everyone who already has. You have no idea how happy you've made us :)**


	3. Topsy Turvy Discovery

_Hello and Happy New Year to all! Sorry it took so long to update, but this was not an easy chapter to write. Many hours of reviewing the tape went into this. Enjoy! Also, I hope you have a happy Feast of Fools! We have our King of Fools. Hope you have yours! _

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed. We can't reply individually to you anymore, but you're much appreciated! Since we took so long to update, this chapter is twice as long as the other two. Have a happy Sixth of January! (Isn't it ironic?)**

_And without further ado…

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Chapter 3

_What am I doing?_

It was the next morning, and Erik was sitting alone in a dark corner of Esmeralda's tent, holding his cloak in his hands. His fingers ran over the material absentmindedly again and again while his thoughts harassed him. _Don't do this, you fool!_, his mind yelled at him._ Are you having delusions that you're some kind of normal man who can simply walk around in broad daylight without causing a reaction?_

_But I'll be hidden_, another part of his mind replied. _There will be others who are looking to hide themselves in a setting like that, and no one will give it a second thought._

_But they will! You KNOW they will! You cannot escape it! How many times must you deliberately walk over a bed of nails before you come to your senses and realize it only causes pain?_

He clenched his fists around the fabric of the cloak in frustration.

"Erik?" Esmeralda poked her head in the tent.

"WHAT!"

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise at his outburst, and she looked taken aback.

He shook his head. _Good job_, that voice taunted him again._ Are you also determined to drive away the only friend you have left_? He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. "I apologize, mademoiselle," he said. "Sometimes my temper can get out of hand."

She visibly calmed down too, and nodded. "It's okay." Her expression turned to amused. "And call me 'Esmeralda'. I don't think I can handle anyone calling me 'mademoiselle', like I'm some kind of high class debutante."

He chuckled, relieved that she wasn't mad. "All right," he agreed.

"I came to tell you that we're leaving for the festival soon. Are you coming with us?" Her earring shook as she twisted her head in a questioning manner.

His demeanor became serious again. He took in a deep breath, his mind assaulting him again with its indecision. But despite the attempts of the part of him that was probably more rational, in the end the desire to go to a place where people wouldn't judge him or treat him differently because he was wearing a mask (at least for a little while) was too strong to resist.

He stood up and swung his cloak around him in one fluid motion. "Let's go."

* * *

_I can't believe I'm here,_ Erik thought as he followed Esmeralda through the street. She'd been complaining about running late and that she might not make it in time. They were almost at the Festival, and already he could see tents of all colors set up in strategic spots around the area, streamers and decorations littering the streets and houses, and people bustling around in colorful outfits. Abruptly, he veered off from Esmeralda's trail. He paused just as he reached the entrance to an alley, taking deep breaths. Instinctively, he pulled his black hood further down his face. The idea of simply stepping out into a crowd was causing him anxiety. True, he'd never been keen on mingling with normal-looking people, but his stint at the opera house had only exaggerated his preference for isolation.

_This is ridiculous,_ he thought. _What am I doing? I can't be here. There's way too many people, and something's bound to happen. I'll just sneak back the way I came and figure out what to do next._

With that, he turned around and began making his way back toward the Court of Miracles, even though he had no clear intention of returning there. As his feet hit the pavement, he heard loud voices sing from where Esmeralda was headed:

_Come one, come all_

_Leave your looms and milking stools_

_Coop the hens and pen the mules_

Booming drums accompanied them. He winced at their screeching voices. He wondered idly if he'd ever again hear a decent singing voice.

_Come one, come all_

_Close the churches and the schools_

_It's the day for breaking rules_

_Come and join the Feast of . . ._

"Fools!" he heard Clopin's energetic voice call, accompanied by a joyous laugh. It was then that Erik saw two men dressed as jesters walking opposite to him. He immediately tensed up. But when they saw him, they broke into grins. One waved cheerfully, and the other whistled. "Now _that's_ a good costume."

"Yeah," the other one added. "What are you going as, the Grim Reaper?"

Erik stared at them dumbfoundedly. He might have chuckled at the comparison if he wasn't so taken aback by their reaction to him. Finally, after a few seconds, he cleared his throat and said in the most serious tone he could muster, "It's me, monsieur, the Angel of Death." Inside, though, he was laughing. _Nothing like a little self-mockery to start the day_, he thought.

The men chuckled and continued on their way.

Erik smiled behind his mask. Grim Reaper, eh? Maybe going to the Festival wouldn't be so bad after all. _Perhaps I could construct a makeshift staff with a sickle at the end of it, _he thought amusedly.

His mind made up, he turned around again, this time in the direction of the Feast of Fools. His body-length cloak swirled with his swift motion, and he heard Clopin singing as he followed the two men:

_Once a year we throw a party here in town_

_Once a year we turn all Paris upside-down_

_Every man's a king and every king's a clown_

_Once again it's topsy-turvy day_

_It's the day the devil in us gets released_

_It's the day we mock the pig and shock the priest_

_Everything is topsy-turvy at the Feast of Fools_

_Topsy-turvy!_

_Everything is upsy-daisy_

_Topsy-turvy!_

_Everyone is acting crazy_

_Dross is gold and weeds are a bouquet!_

_That's the way of topsy-turvy day!_

Erik felt good. He just had a conversation with strangers who actually _complimented_ his appearance, and despite himself, he was excited at the thought of walking around at this celebration. As he got closer, he noticed that the festival was taking place right in front of an enormous cathedral. Notre Dame, he believed it was called. He'd heard from Garnier that it was a stunning piece of architecture. Hmm . . . he'd have to examine it closer once he reached the area.

Within minutes, he was standing at the threshold of the Feast of Fools. Standing with what he hoped was a confident demeanor, he eyed the party-goers. They all seemed too caught up in their drunken festivities to be aware of much of anything, he noted as a giggling couple passed him by. After taking in a few deep breaths, he took marched as firmly as he could muster out onto the decorated streets. And immediately he had to swerve to the left as his quick reflexes alerted him to a line of dancers that was about to trample him. The song they were singing grew in intensity.

_Topsy-turvy!_

_Beat the drums and blow the trumpets!_

_Topsy-turvy!_

_Join the bums and thieves and strumpets_

_Streaming in from Chartres to Calais_

_Scurvy knaves are extra scurvy_

_On the sixth of January_

_All because it's topsy-turvy day!_

Erik ducked behind a tent, cape swirling behind him, as a young girl cartwheeled past him. He smiled in spite of himself. _This _was what he'd been anxious over? Here he was out in the open, people all around him, and not one of them was staring at him in disgust or gasping in horror. Not one was even so much as pointing at him. He felt almost . . . invisible.

Drums signaled an urgency in the their tone as Clopin's voice began calling to the crowd.

_Come one, come all!_

_Hurry, hurry, here's your chance!_

_See the mystery and romance!_

Clopin was now dancing around a stern-looking, gray-haired man in a ridiculous bonnet who had just sat down on a throne-like chair looking down on the crowd. Erik chuckled as the man eyed Clopin like a person would eye a lump of mold whenever he would get near him. After Clopin jumped away from him, the man brushed himself off as if he'd just gotten dirty. _This must be Frollo_, Erik thought. He almost wished that custom of him being more lenient with the gypsies on this day was not in place. He would love to see Clopin snatched and hauled away.

Clopin continued singing as he leaped over some hooded man who was bending over and onto a stage.

_Come one, come all!_

_See the finest girl in France_

_Make an entrance to entrance_

Erik raised his eyebrows at that. As beautiful as his friend was, finest girl in France she was not.

_Dance, La Esmeraldaaaa . . ._

He held out the note dramatically until he was sure he had everyone's attention. Erik saw him hiding something in his fist and could guess that a disappearing act was soon to follow. Sure enough, at just the right moment, Clopin slammed his fist toward the floor crying, "DANCE!". A millisecond later, a burst of red smoke engulfed him, and in his place was Esmeralda's dancing form, tambourine in hand. They were pretty good, he had to admit. Only the very trained eye would have seen the trapdoor.

Everyone in the crowd, particularly the men, stared at Esmeralda in wonder as she danced skillfully across the stage. All except the man who was probably Frollo, who frowned and muttered something about a "disgusting display".

Esmeralda gave an almost imperceptible smirk, and then bounded across the stage and right over to Frollo.

The gypsies were fond of mocking him today, Erik noted from his place behind the tent as Esmeralda practically sat in Frollo's lap. She came in closer and made like she was going to kiss him. Erik had to smile at her bravery. Shock was written all over the priest's face. But as she leaned in almost to the point of touching him, his eyes stared at her with a look of . . . longing?

Erik raised an eyebrow under the mask. He knew that look well.

With a thump, Esmeralda broke the spell by pushing Frollo's hat down over his face and quickly leaping back to the center of the stage. The priest's eyes now blazed with rage.

_Very interesting_, Erik thought.

Esmeralda finished up her dance in a flourish of acrobatics. As the audience cheered and threw coins, Clopin came back on stage, grinning wildly. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, the _pièce de résistance!"_

_Here it is, the moment you've been waiting for_

_Here it is! You know exactly what's in store_

_Now's the time we laugh until our sides get sore_

_Now's the time we crown the King of Fools!_

As Clopin pointed out the man–who did indeed look rather foolish–who had won the contest the previous year, Erik watched the audience start nudging each other with devious looks in their eyes, and he sighed. From his experience, entertainment set-ups by the gypsies normally involved humiliating someone defenseless. He had a bad feeling about this.

_So make a face that's horrible and frightening_

_Make a face that's gruesome as a gargoyle's wing_

_For the face that's ugliest_

_Will be the King of Fools!_

Erik's stomach lurched. He ducked further behind the tent. _What!_

The crowd broke out into a chant as Clopin began scanning the crowd for potential participants. "Ugly folks, forget your shyness! You could soon be called Your Highness!" he called. "Put your foulest features on display! Be the king of topsy-turvy day!" People in costumes started climbing onto the stage.

The rage within Erik was growing, and his hands clenched into fists. He knew it. He knew he shouldn't have come here. People cannot be trusted. But what really hurt was when he saw Esmeralda joining in, pulling some man onto the stage who was wearing a mask shaped like a distorted human face. His supposed _friend_. How_ could _she?

"Hey." A nearby man in a blue cloak staggered over to Erik. He nudged him with a drunken grin on his face. "Why don't you go up there? You're ugly enough."

The man's scream was drowned out by the audience's shouting as his body was hurled against the side of a building.

The contest was now underway. About ten men were lined up, all sporting masks. One by one, Esmeralda pulled them off and the men proceeded to grimace, growl, pull on their faces–all in an attempt to make themselves look frightening. The crowd wasn't impressed and booed louder with each person.

Erik had seen enough. He pulled his cloak further around him and started thinking of possible places he could go to. He had no desire to return to the Court of Miracles. And he had even less desire to return to the Opera Populaire. Leaving Paris altogether was probably the best idea.

A sudden gasp from the crowd pulled him out of his musing. His eyes turned back to the stage. Only the young man with the distorted human-shaped mask remained. Esmeralda stood next to him with her eyes wide as saucers, pure shock all over her face. The people in the audience looked absolutely terrified. Women shrieked, and some had their hands over their mouth. All were staring in fear at the man whose mask was twisting into an expression of confusion.

Wait a minute. _Twisting?_

"That's no mask!" exclaimed a man who was near the stage, pointing.

"It's his _face!_" cried a woman.

"He's _hideous!_" another exclaimed.

"It's the bellringer from Notre Dame!" shouted a man on the other side of the crowd.

Erik's mouth dropped, hitting against the inside of his mask. If the people could have seen his face, he was sure it would have looked as shocked as everyone else's. He took a closer look at this man. The shape of his face was exaggerated so that it looked almost like a triangle, not leaving much room for a forehead. His nose was enormous, as if it would swallow up his whole face. Over his left eyebrow, there was a bulge that nearly covered his eye. His red hair fell absentmindedly over the other one. His ears stuck out and were slightly pointed. His teeth were misshapen and out of place. And a large hump on the right side of his back caused him to hunch forward permanently.

_This_ was what he actually _looked like?_

The man was covering his face with his hands in embarrassment and pain while Clopin bounded to the front of the stage, holding up his arms in a "hold on a second" gesture. "Ladies and gentlemen, don't panic," he implored the crowd, apparently trying to regain control. "We asked for the ugliest face in Paris, and here he is!" His face became animated again as he produced a jester crown and placed it on the man's head. "Quasimodo, the Hunchback of Notre Dame!"

The crowd appeared to think this over, and slowly their expressions turned from frightened to grinning.

"Yes!" Clopin encouraged the now cheering audience. "We now have the ultimate King of Fools! Let's celebrate! _Everybody_!" He leapt off the stage as people began climbing up to grab the man, now identified as Quasimodo, to hoist him into the air.

_Once a year we throw a party here in town_

_Once a year we turn all Paris upside-down_

_Once a year the ugliest will wear a crown_

_We never had a king like this_

_And it's the day we do the things that we deplore_

_On the other three-hundred and sixty-four_

_Once a year we love to drop in_

_Where the beer is never stopping_

_For the chance to pop some popinjay_

_And pick a king who put the "top"_

_In topsy-turvy_

_Topsy-turvy, mad-and-crazy_

_Upsy-daisy, topsy-turvy day!_

Erik was frozen to his spot, a million emotions flying around in his head. He felt a connection to this young man because of their shared deformity, which was an entirely unusual feeling. However, he also felt a confused emotion on watching these revelers hail him as their "king" and chant his name. It was almost like disgust. Or betrayal. Exposing himself like that was a concept Erik's brain hadn't come close to entertaining in years. What in the world would possess this man to do such a thing?

But these thoughts had barely been formed when he saw a tomato fly through the air and hit Quasimodo. Then another came from a different part of the crowd. Then another. And another. Although the man had looked like he was flying high in jubilation just a minute before, he now looked terrified. Anguish seen clearly on his face, he attempted to flee the stage.

"Where're you going, Hunchback? The fun's just beginning!" called someone from the crowd. He threw a lasso, which caught Quasimodo by the neck, pulling him down onto the hard wood with a thud.

More and more ropes appeared from the spectators, capturing the frightened man until he was tied down onto a spinning wheel that was on the platform. "Master!" Quasimodo cried. "Master! Please help me!" He looked pleadingly in the direction of Frollo, who responded by sneering and turning away in disapproval.

_Master?_ The word itself left a bad taste in Erik's mouth. He felt a twinge of pity for this deformed man, for he well remembered how it felt to be publicly humiliated in this manner. Should he make an attempt to help him? He was the one who had made himself this vulnerable. He'd even allowed himself to take part in such a degrading contest when he must have known the consequences. He almost deserved what he got.

The crowd suddenly grew silent. A lone figure was climbing up the stairs to the platform of Quasimodo's shame. Esmeralda! Quasimodo noticed her and flinched as if he thought she had decided to come and torment him from up close now. Erik could see the compassionate expression on her face even from his remote location. She approached the hunchback slowly, and he could hear her speaking in a soothing voice even though he could not make out the words. She took off a piece of fabric tied around her waist and used it to wipe off some of the tomatoes from Quasimodo's face. Quasimodo gazed at her like she was an angel from heaven sent to rescue him.

It was making more sense now. _This_ was the girl that Erik knew. So why had she participated in that cruel contest, he wondered. She must not have realized how debased it was, or perhaps she'd had a lapse in judgment.

"YOU! Gypsy girl! Get down at _once!_"

Everyone turned in the direction of the voice that had just called out. Frollo was now standing, his finger pointing angrily at the scene in front of him.

"Yes, your honor," Esmeralda replied with restrained disdain as the title passed through her lips. "Just as soon as I free this poor creature."

"I forbid it!"

There was tension in the air as the two stared at each other in fierce determination, Esmeralda looking at the man who had been hunting her people down like they were unwanted insects, and Frollo looking at one of the objects of her pursuit.

In a flash, Esmeralda grabbed a knife that was fastened to her leg and cut the ropes that held Quasimodo down.

The crowd was aghast. Erik couldn't help admiring her courage.

Frollo's eyes blazed. "How _dare _you defy me," he told her, his voice rumbling.

Esmeralda stood up to her full height and set her jaw. "You mistreat this poor boy the same way you mistreat my people!" she called. "You speak of justice, but you are cruel to those must in need of your help!"

"_Silence!"_

"_JUSTICE!"_ Esmeralda raised the knife over her head in almost a rally call.

The spectators were beside themselves with gasps and shocked outcries. Erik was almost positive he saw one woman faint. They had probably never seen someone so unabashedly disobey Frollo before

"Mark my words gypsy, you will pay for this insolence,"Frollo angrily yelled toward Esmeralda shaking his finger.

"Then it appears we've crowned the wrong fool," she stated, bowing gracefully to him. "The only fool I see is YOU!" She snatched the crown off the hunchback's head and threw it at Frollo.

Frollo glanced down at the crown at the ground in front of him, then barked, "Captain Phoebus, arrest her!" to the horseman at his right. With a snap of his finger, more horsemen started advancing to the platform where Esmeralda and the hunchback now stood.

So it had come to this point. Esmeralda looked thoughtful, and pointed a finger at each of the guards, mumbling under her breath. "So there's ten of you and one of me. What's a poor girl to do?" Her voice became frightened and she appeared to start crying. The guards were getting closer and closer. In fact, one was almost in the position of seizing her. Erik wondered what she was doing. He knew this display of defeat was a ruse. But when he saw her pull a blue handkerchief out of her shirt, he suspected that there was some powder in it which would assist in making a dramatic escape.

Just as a guard was reaching out his weapon to take her in, she blew her nose in the handkerchief, releasing the powder. An explosion of red smoke concealed her exit.

"Oh, boys . . . over here," came her mocking voice. A second later, she and her goat were over on the execution scaffold. And a second later, she was off and running. Guards from every segment of the festival chased her. The crowd, which had been astonished at her escape from the platform, was now cheering her on.

After a few near misses with the guards, Esmeralda and the goat were hoisted high on top of the structures that people were playing music in by two gypsies on extremely high stilts. Esmeralda wasted no time in spinning a big piece of maroon fabric around herself, and she and the goat disappeared underneath it. The gypsies played it off like just another show they were putting on, pulling off the fabric to reveal that she wasn't there anymore and striking a pose with accompanying dramatic music.

Frollo was seething. He turned around and glared daggers at Quasimodo as if this was all _his_ fault. Quasimodo (who had not moved from his position on the platform all the while during Esmeralda's daring escape) responded by looked ashamed. Frollo then climbed up on a black horse and turned to the horseman who he had spoken to before. "Find her, captain!" he rumbled. "I want her alive!"

"Yes, sir," the guard, aforecalled Phoebus, replied obediently and promptly ordered his men to find Esmeralda. The guards began canvassing the crowd, shoving people of the way in the process.

Frollo rode his horse over to Quasimodo, a piercing glare still on his face. Quasimodo flinched as if he was about to hit him. Then cringed with shame covering his whole demeanor.

The crowd jumped away in fright as Quasimodo leapt off the platform. Erik shook his head at the scene in front of him. The way Frollo could control Quasimodo without even a word made him want to spit. What hold could this . . . man possibly have over Quasimodo? And the pained way he looked at the people's repulsed faces as he stumbled over toward the huge entrance to Notre Dame as if he was surprised at their reaction to him. It was like he had never experienced something like this before.

Wait. Never experienced something like this before . . . .

"Hey, you!"

The loud voice was right behind him. Erik turned slightly to see what was going on. There were three guards standing about twenty feet away from him. The one on the left was pointing directly at . . . _him_.

What, did they think Esmeralda was going around donning a mask and a cape?

"The fire at the opera house!" the man exclaimed. "That's him! That's the man who started it! He's wanted for murder!"

Or not. Erik quickly assessed his surroundings and thought, _Time for me to make a daring escape of my own.

* * *

_

Esmeralda strained to see through Djali's fur and the blue cloak around her head. Her back also ached a little from hunching over like an old man. But she wouldn't have to endure this disguise for long; just as soon as she could get inside Notre Dame she would be safe.

Well, relatively safer, at least.

_I feel so bad about that poor man_, she thought. _If I had known that that was his real face, I would have never pulled him onto the stage!_

Someone bumped into her, so she had to make a quick balancing act so Djali would not fall off her head. In doing so, she turned to the right, and her eyes caught sight of a man in a white mask dressed in black who had three guards chasing him.

Erik! What were they chasing _him_ for! Her anger flared up against Frollo. What _gall_ he had, treating people like dirt just because they were a little bit different from him and didn't fit into his vision of the perfect society. She did not regret what she said to him at all, even though she was now possibly running for her life. It was past time for someone to stand up to him. His position as judge did not give him the right to do this.

Suddenly, Erik turned a corner and disappeared into the shadows cast by several tents that were side by side. The guards turned the corner a few seconds later and stopped when their target wasn't in sight. One checked that shadowy area between the tents, but Erik was no longer there. They looked around the area a bit, but didn't see anything. Frustrated, they continued their search straight ahead.

Satisfied that Erik had gotten away, Esmeralda resumed her search for Notre Dame, now that she had lost her bearing. There! Up ahead was Notre Dame, the place where criminals could find sanctuary.

Just as it caught her eye, she could have sworn she saw a piece of a black cloak vanish into the open door.

* * *

**I know a lot of this chapter seemed to be just retelling the movie. But this stuff needed to happen in the story. It'll get more different after this.**


End file.
